


Disc One: The Strider Sound Box

by breezyArtii2an



Series: Strider Jams [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Dave, Clusterfucks of Massive Proportions, Crocker Corp, Crocker Family Trouble, Crocker/Harley/English/Egbert Family shenanigans, Dirk and Jane have a strange relationship, Drama & Romance, Epic Friendship, Humanstuck, Jane Crocker stop throwing those cakes right now!, Josh Smith just wants to bake some cakes, Karkat is Really Fucking Done, Mentions of Possible Police Brutality, Multi, Multilingual Karkat and Kanaya, Offers You Can't Refuse, POC Representation is important, Pansexual Dirk, Rose is a great sister, Serendipitous Shenanigans, Slice of Life, Sporadic Updates, Strider Feels, Strider Manpain, Strider tangents as usual, The Infamous Strider Awkwardness When Talking About The Gay™, Vantas Family Strife, Where in the world is Bro Strider?, awful rap battles, but hold on kids, we're in this for the long haul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1889661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breezyArtii2an/pseuds/breezyArtii2an
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“To my grandchildren, Broderick, Diederik, Rosalind and David Strider, I bequeath my business and all that remains in all of my accounts, because the little homies need money to stay fly.”</p><p>“You’re shitting me.”</p><p>“Er.  Mr. Strider, this is exactly what your grandfather wrote.”</p><p>In which Dirk and Dave Strider find themselves running a music store, Karkat Vantas ran away from home, Rose and Kanaya are the only rational adults, and Jane Crocker knows exactly how to stop a thief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. TRACK ONE. The Last Will and Testament of Calem Walker

**Author's Note:**

> Track One: Prologue.

“To my grandchildren, Broderick, Diederik, Rosalind and David Strider, I bequeath my business and all that remains in all of my accounts, because the little homies need money to stay fly.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Er. Mr. Strider, this is exactly what your grandfather wrote.”

Diederik—but please, call him DIRK, lord knows how he despises the name Diederik, it sounds so pretentious, like he’s some damn scruffy Nazi general or some shit, gonna take over the whole camp with his huffy righteousness and all that shit and—

Oh, he’s getting off track.

Anyhow, DIRK STRIDER, his LITTLE BRO DAVE and YOUNGER SISTER ROSE are sitting through the reading of the will of CALEM WALKER. Their tiny, yet sprightly grandfather, whom they had all affectionately called LIL CAL, had succumbed to an illness that Dirk would very much prefer to not talk about. Lil Cal’s barely been dead a week, but to Dirk, it’s felt like a year. The man had been their guardian—their dad, HAL STRIDER, was deployed to Afghanistan some months ago and wasn’t due back until Dave’s graduation in the spring. Their mother, ROXY STRIDER, nee Lalonde, and Lil Cal’s adopted daughter, was still in rehab for her drinking, but she was at least present for her father’s funeral and currently she is sitting in a chair somewhere to Dirk’s left. After MOM’S drinking problem SPIRALED OUT OF CONTROL leading her to be IN AND OUT OF REHAB, and Dad IMMERSING HIMSELF INTO SECRET GOVERNMENT WORK, their BIG BRO had been completely at a loss at what to do. He’d been 18, fresh out of high school, and working a shitty minimum wage job—and Dirk, then 13, Rose, then 12, and Dave, only 10, had been completely rendered unable to help him. They’d done their best—Rose had taken up knitting and Dirk learned how to make swords and tech and plush rumps just as fine as Bro’s, but even with the funds from their online store they’d been struggling. So Lil Cal had taken them all in. The dude had been pretty fly, to be honest, a lot cooler than most grandpas. He’d been bald and had a few teeth replaced with golden ones, but he’d been charming and funny as hell. Bro had loved the guy, even if Rose had been a little creeped out. But one day, Bro had UP AND LEFT, no note, no explanation. 

So for EIGHT YEARS, Dirk, Dave, and Rose had lived under Cal’s roof.

Now that the guy was dead… well, there was of course the usual LEGAL SHIT to be taken care of. Which is why Dirk, Dave, Rose, and their (blessedly sober) mom are in a lawyer’s office. For that legal shit.

They’d expected some assets, yeah, but the business?

“What Dirk is trying to say is… We can’t possibly take Walkman. We haven’t the first idea how to run a business.” Rose interjected in as calmly as possible. Which was pretty fucking calm. Rose has learned how to keep a cool demeanor from the best, just as Dave and Dirk had. 

“Well, Ms. Strider, you can arrange for it to be sold, if that is what you wish.” The lawyer said, his fingers steepled. Dirk didn’t like that. Seemed like he had some nefarious plan to confer with his associates about. Dirk always knew lawyers were shady sons-of-bitches.

“I’d have to confer with my family about that.” Rose replied smoothly, and Dirk envied her cool. She hadn’t spent nearly every day in Cal’s shop. Sure, Dirk knew how to man the fort while Cal went to get Chinese food from the little shop down the street, and he could organize and sign off from the suppliers and he definitely knew his way around the cash register, he’d fixed the ancient thing half a dozen times… but running a business? He didn’t know if he had it in him. He wanted nothing more than to keep Cal’s shop alive!

“Dirkeh, I think you should go fer it,” Roxy put in confidently. Even sober, she still slurred her speech. Maybe it was just the way she talked. Dirk didn’t know.

“Bro. You and me. We could do this.” Dave looked at him. The two Strider boys made direct eye contact for the first time in a long time—neither wore shades, out of respect to Cal, who had always told them to be proud of their strange eye colors. At least Rose’s eyes—an odd shade of violet, the same as Roxy’s—was close enough to blue that people didn’t really notice. Dirk’s orange could pass for hazel or brown depending on the lighting. But Dave’s irises were red, and scared the shit out of most people who didn’t know them. Hell, it scared some of their friends sometimes. Anyway, for that reason, Dave and Dirk often wore shades. Eye contact was rare, and Dirk knew that by looking at Dave, the little dude was serious.

“It’s like taking care of a dog, Dirk. You just gotta walk it and give it some food and toys and shit. Bro. We’re going to walk it all the way to the park and everybody’s gonna see it and wanna pet it. The business will be swarming with bitches wanting to get a sweet pap in on our business. It will be great. We got this.” Dave insisted.

“David. Care to word that in a way that the rest of the family can understand?” Rose asked, and amused smirk spreading her lips. Dirk almost chuckled. Rose knew exactly what Dave was saying, but she was slowly trying to wean him off his ironic tangents. Dirk only knew because she was doing the same damn thing to him.

“I’m saying, we ain’t going to sell Lil Cal’s shop, you dig? We’re going to keep it and run it.” He said it definitively, and Dirk found himself silently agreeing.

In the end, after careful debate between the Strider children, and Roxy’s blessing prior to her (umpteenth) return to rehab, they agreed to keep Walkman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Jams has finally begun! I've actually had this idea outlined and sitting in my files.  
> Updates will be sporadic.. but be patient until the next Track. :)  
> With love, Jo.


	2. TRACK TWO. Setting Up Shop (Flash Bro-don)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk and Dave unpack some of Walkman's stock, but they might not be alone.

"Say cheese, Dave!"

The flash was so fucking bright that it would have stunned him, had he not been wearing his shades. Dave turned and scowled at Dirk, who was holding up his phone and fiddling with it. Probably posting it to his blog or some shit, Dave thought.

"What the fuck do you want, Bro? You almost blinded me with that shitty flash."

"Just snapping a pic, lil bro," Dirk put his cell back in his pocket, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Yeah? What for?" Dave asked, resting the larger of the two boxes in his arms against his hip for a moment. He quirked a brow, waiting.

"Memories, dude. Memories." Dirk answered cryptically, looking at him over his dumb anime shades.

Dave snorted. “Pick up a fuckin’ box and help me with all this shit, you lazy dick,” the younger Strider rolled his eyes and set down his latest stack. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie, glancing at the clock on the wall, and then at the remaining boxes around them. Dirk, as if doing the same, heaved a long sigh.

"Let’s get to work."

…

The decision to keep the store, while in the long run they knew would be completely worth it (and totally deserving of a jam session later) also entailed a lot of labor that, while they knew that running a shop was more than just sitting at a cash register for an eight-hour shift, they still hadn’t quite expected. So, once all the legalese had cleared them to getting the shop open and Rose had walked them through all the paperwork, there was then the matter of unpacking some of the stock that came in the last shipment. Of course the brothers, too tough to accept help, had been dead-set on doing it themselves. Unpacking isn’t hard, they said. It’ll be easy, they said.

Let it be known that even a Strider gets tired.

(Or they could just be lazy fucks. They keep getting distracted. Either by the tunes on the radio, which of course they only love ironically, or their shared need to make sick beats and ill rhymes. And of course, Rose came in with a pizza. Hard workers though the Striders may be, they are still young and nobody, except Dirk’s sweaty friend Equius, is extremely fond of manual labor—especially manual labor that entails dust and lifting boxes filled with fragile equipment. Seriously. Some of these boxes need fucking padding or something, Dave thought, this cardboard is as strong as an eggshell. Gotta protect these records. They’re going to hatch into baby birds of music one day and they’re gonna soar right into somebody’s collection.)

So, about a month after Cal’s death and three weeks after reading his will, the fruit of the Striders’ hard work of getting Walkman back open has finally come into season. That fruit that they worked so tirelessly to nurture and care for, that they waited so long to bloom from the fertilized flower of their combined love and Lil Cal’s legal proclamation of Strider worthiness, that they toiled in the hot hot sun for, has finally culminated to this: two Striders leaning on a counter sighing gloomily at an absurd amount of boxes left to unload from the stockroom.

“Goddammit, Bro!” Dave groaned, pulling his hood over his head and burying his face in his arms. They’d gotten through at least ten boxes, and there were still a fuckton more to go. When Cal had gotten sick, they’d had to pack a lot of shit away, and in the hullabaloo during that time, Rose guessed that Cal had forgotten to cancel some shipments. The stack, while certainly not impossible to tackle, was still monstrous. And Dirk, while he would never admit it, really needed a break too.

Dave proclaimed, muffled by maroon sleeves, but nonetheless exasperated, “I can’t fucking take it anymore, if I have to lift one more box I am going to fly off the handle. I am going to fly so far off the handle that the handle is going to beg for me to come back because it can’t handle being apart for so long.”

“Sit down and chill, Dave. Have another slice of pizza, cool your jets. Make your jets so cool that we have to set some fires to warm them back up, okay? It’s break time.” Dirk pushed his Kamina shades up his nose in true anime coolkid fashion. Dave lifted his head. His nostrils were flared with his indignation, but at Dirk’s words he took a deep breath and schooled himself into Strider Calm. The Strider Calm is a trademark cool expression from the Strider Clan, learned from years of tutelage from one Bro Strider after his childhood learning of the Strider Cool under Hal Strider. No one’s quite as good at it as Dirk, but everyone always says it’s because he’s part robot—which, to your narrator’s knowledge, isn’t true, but it could be possible, maybe. Anyway, the signature Strider Calm, which Dave from time to time has seriously considered trademarking for ironic reasons, has prevented many inter-Strider fistfights, brawls, and brouhahas. (Not strifes, though. Strider Strifes are sacred, especially now that Dave can hold his own without falling down a set of stairs. But more on that later.)

Where were we? Ah, that’s right. Dave schooled himself into the Strider Calm. He puffed out a breath and lowered his hood.

“Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, little bro. You just sit tight for a little while. I’ll unpack some boxes while you mellow out, yeah? Put on your Beats or something, maybe fuck around on garageband again. I don’t know.” Dirk waved his hand and rolled up the sleeves of his sweater.” He cracked his knuckles. “Do whatever Daves do.” He added as an afterthought.

“Yeah. Okay. I’m going to be so chill, dude. Totally chill. Chiller than Elsa.”

“No one’s chiller than Elsa, little bro.” Dirk called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the stockroom. Before Dave’s tantrum, Dirk had counted that there were thirty-one more boxes to go through before they were completely unpacked, but if they went through just ten more then they’d have enough of the better merch back up to draw in a crowd. (That would also involve setting up at drumkit and hanging up an entire wall’s worth of guitars, basses, other stringed instruments, but small price to pay if it meant they could hold off going through the other boxes.) Yet Dirk noticed that the stacks were shorter now. He counted, and the four stacks of six plus one stack of seven had turned into five even stacks of five.

“Wait, what?” Dirk counted again. Five stacks of five.

“What the hell?” Dirk walked out of the storeroom. “Dave! How many fucking boxes did you unpack, bro?” If he unpacked six, then damn, no wonder little bro was so tired.

“Only the ones you told me to?” Dave lifted his head, his shades pushed to the top of his head. “I unpacked one before I quit, remember? You said there was like, thirty thousand or some shit left.”

“Well dude, that’s the thing…” Dirk leaned against the glass counter, staring down into the this-and-thats on display inside. “There are six fucking boxes missing, Dave.”

“What? Dude, that’s not possible. You must have miscounted or something.” Dave laughed it off. “Go count again. You probably missed a stack or—“

“Dave,” Dirk interjected very seriously, his Strider Calm morphed into Strider Ice, “I am never wrong. If there’s one thing I’m good at, little bro, it’s numbers.”

“Okay, chill!” Dave held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Just, go count again Bro. Maybe these boxes are driving us nuts.”

Dirk could accept that explanation. They all looked the same, mostly. He wiped his shades down, took a deep breath and returned to the storeroom.

… Only to find that twenty five boxes had turned to twenty three.

“B-BRO! BRO COME QUICK HOLY SHIT.”

At Dave’s cracking, puberty-voiced squeal of surprise, Dirk flash-stepped back to the main room with utmost urgency. Expecting a robber or a thief or even Li’l Cal returned from the dead, to say that seeing Dave pointing in terror at the wall was surprising would be a severe understatement.

“Dude, what the hell? You were screaming like a goddamn murderer came up in and here and was trying to kill our vibe.”

“No, man, no, you don’t even understand, I saw, I saw---“

“Dave. Chill. Strider Calm.”

Dave schooled himself again. He’d even taken his shades off. He took a few deep breaths, and Dirk watched the giant cog on his hoodie rise and fall, slowing gradually.

“Fucking guitars, Dirk. I didn’t put those fucking guitars up and neither did you. Those goddamn guitars waltzed on in here by themselves like they were fucking army. They marched on in here like it was their damn job to get up on that wall and who was I to deny a goddamn army access? Bro those fucking guitars are possessed, I am going to call Ghostbusters and you can’t fucking stop me.” He raised up the landline for emphasis. The phone wasn’t even hooked up right now, Dirk hadn’t finished tweaking with it, but Dave didn’t know that.

“Don’t call Ghostbusters.” Dirk rubbed his temples. He turned his back on Dave and looked at the display wall in question. It had been bare just a moment ago, but now half the guitars were hanging proudly.

“What the fuck?”

And as he watched, a banjo flashed into existence on the next display.

“What the _fuck_.” Dirk breathed again. “Bro. Bro, is that you?”

Dave spluttered. “Bro, I fucking told you, that’s not me, I am right here, and I am about to shit my goddamn pants.”

“No, not you, you fucking pansy. I uh. I was thinking it was Ghost Cal. Lil dude loves this shop.” Dirk lied smoothly. Dave hadn’t been as close to Bro as Dirk and Rose were. As he saw it, Bro was a bastard for ditching them when they were kids, but Dirk knew the guy had probably wanted to go find himself or some shit. Dave was bitter, and at the very mention of Bro would go into a tirade, or worse, attack a dude he had no hope of ever taking on. Maybe Dave and all his talent could hand Dirk, but Bro was way out of his league. It was best he kept this a secret for now, he figured.

“Oh, shit. Maybe I shouldn’t call Ghostbusters, this could be some cool shit you know?” Dirk ignored that, his eyes fixated on the wall.

A hot pink guitar flashed into existence next to the banjo. There was a little Post-It note slapped onto the scratchguard. Dirk, not afraid of ghosts, whether dead relatives or no, or of the possible and half-unwanted presence of Bro Strider, strode as true to his name up to that hot pink guitar and pulled that Post-It right off. Under a tastelessly drawn doodle of a smuppet, someone had scrawled something underneath.

_You lazy fuckers need to do this shit yourselves._

Under his breath, Dirk mumbled, “Yeah, and you need to fucking talk to us face to face, you bastard.”

Another Post-It appeared, carefully placed on the right lens of his shades. Dirk pulled it off and looked down.

_Patience, young Jedi._ _All in good time._

“Well?” Dave called expectantly from the other side of the room. Dirk chuckled and crumpled up the Post-Its and shoved them into his pocket.

“Just ignore it, Bro. Come on, let’s go mix up some beats, yeah? Forget this crazy shit... We’re probably hallucinating or something. It’s hot as Texas in here, yeah? I gotta get E to fix that air-conditioning…” He rambled aimlessly, pulling his sleeves down and wiping his hands on his pants. Dave, to his credit, is no fool, but to Dirk’s relief he merely shrugged and said “whatever” and followed Dirk to one of the music rooms.

Before Dirk shut the door, he peaked out back into the main room.

“There’s still pizza,” He called out.

“Yeah, duh. Rose didn’t have to buy two boxes just for us.” Dave replied somewhere behind him. Dirk smiled to himself. Rose must have told him.  Even when Dirk couldn't, Rose somehow could always get a hold of Bro.  Once she'd even said to him that Bro was always watching.  Dirk chuckled and shut the door behind him.  

“Yeah, heh. Okay, Dave. Put on a track.”

(And while the Striders put together a techno track, Bro Strider looked on proudly, sitting on the counter and munching a piece of lukewarm combination pizza.  He left a plate of somewhat-smashed, but still-fresh brownies for the kids.  They'd done pretty well themselves, but even as strong as they are they still need their Bro once in a while.  And while Bro can bring himself to face his little siblings, he goes out of his way to makes whatever he can easier for them.  A brownie in the lunchbox.  Intimidating a bully.  Fixing broken turntables.  And this shit.

Bro finished his pizza. 

Maybe one day he could finally settle down and face his little Striders like a man. Until then, the Striders have just gotta stride on.

With one final look at Dirk and Dave, laughing freely with each other, he took a picture.  Setting it as his screensaver, he flashstepped out of the shop and back to a lonely apartment on the shady side of town.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I originally outlined Strider Jams to be a comic, a lot of Disc One's chapters are short snippets of me trying to get a feel for the Striders and their relationships with other people. And family dynamics. Plot (there is one, don't worry) comes later. Side note: The beginning dialogue and art actually comes from a conversation I wrote for this AU ELEVEN MONTHS ago! Haha! It took me that long to get this going, woops. Anyway! Thanks for reading Strider Jams, it's a pleasure to jam with you!
> 
> Want to submit fanart, headcanons, questions, or asks for the Striders? Check out http://striderjams.tumblr.com/ the official blog of Strider Jams!


	3. TRACK THREE. The Scent of Rosemary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave, John, and Jade talk about the shop; Rose Strider invites the boys to dinner; Dirk reassures a friend.
> 
> Not altogether interesting material, but this establishes a bit more of the other characters as they exist in this universe.

"So Dave, how's the shop going? It seems like you and Dirk have been working really hard lately." John commented, shifting his weight so he could lean on the counter. “Everything looks great!”

"Oh, you know, other than that ghost scare, things have been pretty fanfuckingtastic. Didn't realize that people like ukeleles so much here. We sold enough fuckin ukeleles that we could have a goddamn--"

"Dave, focus, dude, I've gotta go soon." John cut his friend off, but not unkindly. He loved Dave's tirades just as much as the next guy, but holy hell, sometimes Dave just needs to shut the fuck up.

"Oh, shit, yeah, sorry dude. Anyway, shop's pretty good. Hipster assholes come and buy records. Little kids buy their first trumpets or whatever. And everybody who's been griping for years about not learning any damn music or not practicing or not whatever come on up and buy a guitar or ukelele and shitton of music books like that's gonna solve their troubles. It's like they're all balding men in denial of their failing virility and receding hairline, and I am the merchant of the miracle Bosley/Viagra superdrug that will give them flowing manes of hair and dongs as big as my arm, they eat this shit up and I get to just sit here and watch while they get their own hopes up only to crash so miserably down once they realize that the problem is with them not the instrument." Though Dave's face didn't show any expression, John was certain that Dave was in fact deriving a sick kind of pleasure off those poor customers' misery with their own ineptitude. Not that he could blame him. People are really fucking dumb sometimes! Like just that morning, John had had a near uncontrollable urge to shit upon his own desk. (Not that you needed to know that. He didn't shit on his desk, by the way, he'll have you know.)

“Wow, Dave.  That sounds very entertaining, and definitely the kind of schadenfreude I’d expect from a Strider,” John teased his friend, but not unkindly.  “Anyway,” he continued, “all in all, I’m glad that the shop is still doing so well!  You’ve been working so dang hard all the time and me and Jade hardly see you anymore except for school!  So it’s good to see you’re doing all right and stuff.  I guess you and Dirk really have a head for business, or something.”  He chuckled a little, feelings his cheeks heat up.  He and Dave were kind of hands-off with their friendship and preferred to keep feelings jams out of the picture for the most part.  But oh well, Dave’s grandpa just died recently, and John can certainly relate with the grief of losing a close relative; Nanna’s death had certainly been hard on him and his family, especially so soon after Uncle Harley’s own passing a year or so prior—John was certain his father had gained more white hairs in his salt-and-pepper hair in the past five years than in Jane’s twenty-two years.

Dave’s voice broke him out of his reverie.  “Yeah, dude, it uh, it’s mostly Dirk that’s good with the business shit, he’s like some technological wizard or something, I swear that the dude is perfect to a fault.  I just kinda.” Dave shrugged, then coughed.  “Yeah, uh, thanks, John.” He bumped his fist against John’s arm.  Weird, yeah, but with how awkward the two of them were being, John would accept it. 

John smiled toothily at his best friend. “Yeah, I know, dude.” The bell at the door (which John remembered Dave’s bro as describing keeping it as “completely for ironic reasons” and “definitely adding to the aesthetic here, John, get with the picture, not everything has gotta be a big fuckin thing here,”) jingled then, preventing him from saying more, and both boys looked towards the entrance. 

“Hi, Dave!” A chipper voice chirped, and Dave raised a hand in a mock-salute.  A girl stood at the entrance, tall, willowy build, lean and subtly muscled, her olive skin even darker than John’s, her long black hair hanging loose.  She was wearing a flannel—one of her brother’s shirts, maybe?—and jeans, and in her hand she held a bag.  Noticing John, she amended her greeting.  “Hey, John! I didn’t expect to find you here. I thought you’d be at the bakery with Jane!”

“I’m about to go there, actually.” John clarified for his cousin, rubbing his neck as he checked the time.  Technically he should have been there ten minutes ago, but he didn’t think his sister would mind if he gave her some news on their friend. 

“Hey, Jade,” Dave greeted, resting his chin on his palm, “What brings you here to Casa del Strider, built out of record and ukuleles and held together with steel guitar strings? What can I do for you, oh mighty wolf queen?”

“Oh, Jake and I grabbed some lunch from Jane’s café and she asked me to bring you this!” She plopped down the paper bag and a plastic coffee cup on the counter separating Dave from his friends.  He eyed it somewhat suspiciously—a gift from Crocker could be a godsend from heaven, or a prank straight out of your nightmares.  You just never knew.  Jane was a little on the capricious side that way.

“She says it’s a new recipe and she wanted you to be the first to try it,” Jade added, sticking a straw into Dave’s cup for him.  Before he could stop her, she took a sip.  “Mm, caramel.”

“Paws off my caramel macchiato, you beast.  Didn’t your grandpa teach you any manners?” He teased, swatting her hand away and pulling the cup to his own lips.  Damn, nothing like a sweet iced coffee drink to pick you up after a long day of fucking nothing.  Dave reveled in the flavor for a second longer as Jade and John entertained themselves, poking around the store’s wares and shooting the shit, before turning his attention to the bag.  Without much fanfare, he opened the white paper, and sniffed.  Apple and cinnamon.

“Smells like pie.” He muttered, then ripped a piece off and took a bite. “Jesus fucking Christ.  John, I’m gonna have to go home with you tonight, I’m gonna take your sister out on a romantic moonlight date and then I’m going to ask your dad if I can have Janey’s hand in marriage.” He bit once more into the sweet, apple sensation. 

Jade laughed at Dave’s reaction, while John just winced at the thought.  “Jane said you’d react something like that.  They’re apple turnovers, right?  She said you’re obsessed with apples.”

“I am not _obsessed_ , Harley,” Dave protested, cradling his baked treasure in one hand, “I simply feel that fruits of the apple persuasion are superior to all others.  I ain’t makin’ a shrine to them or anything.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, Strider.”  Jade smiled cheekily at him, then turned to her cousin.  “Come on, John, me and Jake’ll take you home!  Uncle James invited us over for dinner anyway.”

“Sweet!  I need you to help me with my summer homework for Physics anyway. Can I ride shotgun?” John asked, his eyes lit up.  Dave snorted, but, at Harley’s playful glare, disguised it as a particularly rough throat-clearing. 

“I guess so!  Jake won’t care either way.”  Jade said indulgently.  Turning to Dave, she added, “Well, I guess we’ll be going now! We have to go meet Jake at the bakery and hope he hasn’t driven Rose and Jane crazy yet.” 

“Good luck with that.”  Dave raised a hand in farewell.  “See you guys.  Save me some leftovers, Egbert, God knows my bro’s probably just gonna order pizza again.  Pizza is a miracle on earth, don’t get me wrong, but if I see another box from Domino’s I swear to God that I am going to—”

“Fly off the handle, yes, yes, we know, Dave, we know that you are going to perform some sort of acrobatic move off the handle, it will be so fly, so coolkid, whatever!” Jade cut him off, and Dave pouted a little to himself.  That’s twice now he’s been cut off in the middle of a rant.  Fuckin’ rude.  Maybe he should get some new material.  He’ll ask Dirk, probably. 

“I wasn’t gonna say that. I was gonna say, like. I was gonna strife my brother right there and then, regardless of any prior engagements we might have had.” He mumbled in response.  Jade didn’t look convinced.  Neither did John, quite frankly.  Dave swore under his breath.  “All right,” he admitted, “I might have said it if Jade didn’t so rudely cut me off.”

John and Jade left after that without much fanfare, and the rest of Dave’s workday was uneventful—the usual parents asking for instrument repairs which Dave and Dirk would have to call in their guy Zahhak for, guitar restringings, kids buying records, jazz musicians buying reeds, and a brief visit from Jane as she asked his opinion on the turnovers.  (He’d waxed lyrical for her.  She’d laughed and given him a whole box to take home for dessert, though she warned him that there were some orange pastries that he should leave for Dirk)

On Sundays, the shop closes early, so at four o’clock, Dave turned away a pair of hipsters at the door—probably looking to raid the vinyls and LPs—and shut it behind him.  Sure, he thought as he locked the door, maybe it’s kind of unconventional for an eighteen-year-old to close up shop on his own, and probably to be co-owning it as well, but it was a good feeling.  Maybe he could quit school and do this shit for a living.  Nah, he thought, shrugging, there’s probably other, more important things he’s meant to do.  Plus Dad would probably blow a gasket.

But as slid on his shades, adjusted the box of baked Crocker pastries in his arms, and began walking down the street, Dave glanced over his shoulder to look back at Walkman’s, and wondered what those more important things would be.  He turned his back on the record shop, and kept walking towards home.

One could even correctly say he was making his way downtown.  Walking fast.  Faces pass.  Dave is homebound.

* * *

 

"Damn..."

A little while later, Dirk Strider sighed heavily.  Before him loomed the cavernous pantry of Cal's old townhome.  The walnut doors seemed to share in his disappointment, creaking loudly as he shut them.  Their scratched surface brought to mind a good many pleasant memories, and a couple of not so pleasant ones that had his tongue touching one of his metal caps, but nostalgia has a habit of casting all in a rose-colored light.  His growling stomach interrupted the reflection though, and he groaned.  

It wasn't that they hadn't the means to pay the bills and buy groceries; far from it, for their inheritance from Cal, allowance checks from absentee father Hal, and the Striders' own wages from the shop and Dirk's parttime job ensured that they were, as a matter of fact, financially stable.  It was probably ill-advised for any of the Strider clan to make big purchases any time soon, but they certainly weren’t suffering as much as they had assumed they would.  Sure, Cal’s medical bills were a stressor, but Dirk was sending what he could, and Mom had promised to call the insurance company about co-pay as soon as she had the chance.  He’d probably have to call and remind her, but the fact that she was going to, and perfectly coherent to do so, lightened his heart considerably.  Mom would probably be good to come home soon.

But, even with the Strider brothers’ non-poverty, the cupboards in front of Dirk were proof to him that they had failed to properly feed themselves.  It was simply the fact that between Dave running the shop when Dirk was busy with his second job, and Rose long since moved in with her girlfriend, they didn't have time to do the shopping anymore--that had been Cal's job before, and then when he had been in the hospital, the boys had lived mostly off of Rose and Kanaya's cooking or Chinese take-out. 

Dirk glanced at the phone sitting on the table.  It was tempting to call Rose and ask if they could feed two more mouths, it honestly was, but he wasn't sure if he could do that in good conscience. 

Then again.

He glanced at the empty pantry and frowned.  Dave would be finished in the shower soon, and if Dirk hadn't figured out a plan for dinner before then, he knew his little bro would be bitching up a storm until he did.  Dirk leaned against the worn kitchen counters, rubbing his temples.  He sighed forlornly, wishing that there were more of him to go around to finish all the things he had to finish.

For one, there was the month's finances.  (He had to allocate funds to pay the internet and the water, of course, not to mention grocery money, and a payment for cell phones, TV, Mom’s rehab, Cal’s medical bills, Dirk’s own medication, car payment, plus he’d promised Dave that they’d go back to school shopping soon, then…  Dirk’s head spun considering all of the things he needed to organize.  It’s hard, paying bills.  It’s hard and nobody understands.)

For two, there was contacting Dad. (That was a hot mess of conflicting emotions right there.  He’d called Dad several times and they’d spoken of how to take care of Mom and what to do about Cal’s passing and all of that, but now he had to follow through and make sure the man knew that his children were faring quite well for themselves, no thanks to him.  Maybe he didn’t want his parents all up in his business, especially when Dirk himself was twenty-two, but hey, it would have been nice for his dad to support his grieving wife, instead of leaving it his brothers and children.  Even Bro had come for Lil Cal’s funeral and help Mom adjust a little, but he had left as abruptly as he’d arrived.)  

For three, there was setting aside money for Dave to apply to colleges soon.  (Maybe applications didn’t open for another month or two, but Dirk wanted to _make damn sure_ that his little bro didn’t get knocked of the race before he even got a fucking start.)

For four, there was dinner.

Dirk evaluated his tasks for the day.  Dinner definitely takes precedence, he decided, and with a sense of finality he shut the notebook planner in front of him.  The best part of having no guardian, he has always thought, is the fact that no one can dictate where and when he can go--not that, had his guardians been more attentive, he would have listened to them anyhow.

Stuffing his keys, wallet, and phone into his pockets, Dirk flash-stepped upstairs.  The shower was still running.  He chuckled--now he understood Jane's teasing over his "ungodly long showers"; it had been over half an hour, and honestly, water was not cheap.  Dirk slapped his palm against the door once, twice.  

"Hey, Dave."

He was answered by the roar of the water and Dave's off-key singing still had not stopped.

Dirk pretended not to hear the singing, and resolutely smacked the door again with a resounding thwap.

"Dave."

Still nothing.  He knocked and called a couple more times, and, in receiving more silence, Dirk figured that desperate times call for desperate measures.

He kicked the door down.  Thankfully, the curtains were thick enough that he didn't get an eyeful of his brother's pasty white ass, because who needs to see that shit, not Dirk.  Dave shrieked in a painfully un-Striderlike way, tossing the curtain back enough so that he could see who had interrupted his shower.

"Dirk, what the FUCK!" he squealed, his red eyes huge and probably stinging with the white foam that dripped down his cheeks.

"Dude, what the fuck yourself, I've been knocking here for like five minutes!" Dirk laughed, leaning casually on the doorframe as if the door was not laying slain on the floor before him. 

"Bro, you don't just KNOCK doors down." 

"Lil dude, it's not like I can't fix this shit better than it was before.  Besides, you know this door is pretty much crap anyway."

"It is pretty much crap," Dave conceded, keeping the curtain veiled over himself as if to protect his modesty, (it was really quite a sight, he was like some young prude hiding from her husband, and Dirk was amused at that thought as well)  "but dude, what the fuck. Seriously.”

“Man, I come up here to ask you about dinner and you’re gonna just all up and throw accusations and judgments my way?  Damn, Dave, I may as well just leave you here.” He began to goad, starting to walk away.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Dave called after him, probably leaning out a little and dripping water all over the goddamn floor like the heathen he could be sometime.  Dirk wondered for a moment if leaving more than one towel on the floor would be construed as passive aggressive.

“Out, probably.  Get some dinner.” He shrugged nonchalantly, hoping that the promise of food would be enough to get Dave to _hurry the fuck up_.

“Fuck yeah.  Don’t you leave without me or I swear to God, bro, I will shit on everything you love.” Dave threatened, then the shrill shriek of metal signified that Dave had closed the shower curtain, apparently ending the conversation.

Dirk took the opportunity to go to his room, change his shirt, and call Rose.

“ _Dirk, my dear brother,_ ” Rose greeted smoothly, as if she’d been anticipating his call, “ _if you’re calling with the intention of_ _perhaps securing a place at my dinner table tonight, you would be in luck._ ”

“Oh?” Dirk asked with interest.  Normally, Rose would give him the run-around, and he hated talking in circles with her.  But she sounds sincere, and it is rare that she is quite this succinct. 

“ _Ah, yes…_ ” Rose’s voice changed to that of fondness. “ _Kanaya made a mistake with her recipe, in that she somehow accidentally tripled the recipe in question, and thus, we find ourselves with entirely too much food and not nearly enough people to eat it._ ”

Dirk smiled to himself.  Kanaya was a sweet girl, and absolutely perfect for his little sister.  He really hoped the two of them went the distance.  “Well,” He drawled, “If darling Kanaya would find it agreeable to find Dave and I at her table this evening, I don’t suppose I see any reason to oppose helping my dearest sister be rid of this supposed problem.  In fact, if darling Kanaya would find it agreeable, Dave and I could arrive in an hour?”

He listened as Rose asked him to hold, and her soft voice at a distance as she perhaps discussed it with Kanaya. 

“ _Six-thirty, Dirk,_ ” Rose told him quite firmly, “ _No letting Dave squander his time on asinine activities.  If you are late, your portion will go to the dogs._ ”

“You don’t have dogs.” Dirk pointed out cheekily.

Rose made a noise of frustration that Dirk was all too familiar with being the recipient of.

“Got it, six-thirty, or you’ll glare us into petrification.  See you in a bit sis. Love you.” He hung up before he could get a witty retort from her, and checked the time.  They had a chunk of time, for Dave to get ready. 

“Dave!” He shouted.

“What!” Dave shouted back.

“Be ready by five-thirty!”

There was no response, but Dirk could imagine he didn’t need to emphasize to Dave just how important it was that they listened to Rose, rather than, as she put it, ‘squander their time on asinine activities’. 

* * *

 

They squandered their time on asinine activities.  At 6:10, with still no sign of Dave coming downstairs, and Dirk a little unnerved at the thought of Rose’s cool passive aggression if they did in fact turn up late, quickly deigned to shoot him a text instead of wasting time to tromp upstairs to fetch him.

TT: Dave.  
TT: I told you to get ready half an hour ago.  
TT: Dave, I know you can see this.  
TT: Dave, for fuck’s sake. I’ll leave you here.  
TT: Rose will kill us if we’re late, Dave. You don’t want to face her wrath again.  
TG: what  
TG: bro cant a guy dick around on his computer in peace  
TG: draw some shitty comics for the masses  
TG: im trying to nurture my creative brain bro  
TG: and youre killing my vibe  
TG: cmon what would mom say  
TG: trying to curb my creativity and artistic nature  
TG: downright blasphemous  
TT: Dave.  
TT: Shut the fuck up.  
TT: You don’t just leave a guy hanging when he hasn’t eaten all day, lil bro. Have I taught you nothing?  
TT: If you’re not downstairs in five minutes, you’re eating top ramen tonight and I’m going to Rose’s alone.  
TT: No fancy French style cuisine comes to late lieutenants, Dave.  
TG: aye aye captain  
TG: heard loud and clear  
TG: over and out

\- turntechGodhead [TG] is now offline! –

Dirk chuckled. Works every time.

* * *

 

They arrived at Kanaya and Rose’s apartment at 6:27, and Dirk, as he entered, presented to the ladies a bottle of sparkling cider. (He’d meant to present Jane’s pastries, but Dave had been insistent that they not share it, that it was bad enough he had to share his pastries with Dirk, but if he made him share them with Rose and Kanaya he will complain to Jane.  Dirk didn’t need Jane clucking her tongue at him and saying “Shucks, buster!” while wagging her finger.  It was too much for his fragile heart to handle.)

Rose chuckled at the offering and of course, with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, fetched champagne flutes from the pantry to of course serve the beverage with. 

“Go on and sit down at the table.  I’d just finished setting it in anticipation for your arrival.”

As Dirk turned towards the little alcove where the small table was, Dave nudged his arm and directed his gaze to where Kanaya perched on the pristine white loveseat.  The woman that Dirk was used to seeing as elegant, tall, and full of grace and poise was now looking despairing and disheveled, eyes downcast as she stared blank-faced at the coffee table.  Her cell phone sat impassive before her.  Dirk glanced at Rose.  Rose’s expression twitched, but did not falter, and as she finished pouring the fourth glass, she set the bottle down on the dinner table.  Dirk watched her skirt swish as she whipped around to her lover.  As she curved an arm around her and pressed Kanaya’s cheek to her body, her voice carrying a low a mumble as she murmured something to her girlfriend, Dirk grabbed Dave by the shoulder and steered him towards the dinner table. 

“Don’t be rude.” He muttered under his breath, “It’s not our business.”

Dave simply nodded.

The two brothers sat in silence, hungrily fixated on the delicious looking spread of beef bourgignon and scalloped potatoes and salad nicoise before them.  Dave raised his hand towards one of the serving spoons; Dirk swiftly threw his own spoon to prevent him from even considering tasting the meal before their hosts sat at the table.  They scowled at each other for about ninety seconds before Dave relented, and then the two of them began a silent game of paper football instead with a scrap bit of paper from Dave’s pocket instead.

As Dave flicked the triangle right into Dirk’s face, Rose swept in, smiling distantly at them.  Her expression dropped for a short moment, as she caught Dirk’s eyes and mouthed a ‘thank you’ on her black-lined lips.  Dirk offered her a half-smile of reassurance and a half shrug.

“I am sorry for Kanaya,” she began lowly, smoothing her skirt as she sat, “She is not feeling so well right now, though she will join us for dinner, and that is all there is to say on the matter.” She eyed Dave meaningfully, and then turned to serve herself and her guests.  By the time that Dirk caught Kanaya’s darker complexion in the corner of his eye, Rose already had begun portioning out her plate, and handed it to her as Kanaya sat next to her. 

“Please excuse me.” Kanaya enunciated carefully.  She had a bit of an accent—French, though sometimes he caught an undertone of her African upbringing.  She’d lived in various parts of Europe before moving to America at eighteen, and now, twenty-five, she was fairly well established as a designer.  She didn’t have her own company or brand yet, but she worked for a few studios, or so Rose had told him last time he’d asked.

“Are you all right?” Dirk asked, half out of courtesy, half out of sincerity.

“Oh, yes,” Kanaya answered distantly, waving her hand at him and instead of meeting his eyes, inspected the stainless steel candelabra very intently. “I was… expecting a call, a very important call, that never came.”  She pursed her lips, her brow knitting, and then she sighed.  “Well, without further ado, we should eat before the bourgignon gets cold.”  She smiled wearily and Dirk nodded.

The dinner of course tasted superb, as Rose was certainly as genius in the kitchen as their mother, and if that was true, then it was doubly so for Kanaya.  Dirk isn’t sure what that means for his own cooking skills, but Dave seems contently full, and Rose seems content to know that their copious leftovers have a place to be pawned off to, so Dirk shrugs it off.  His siblings are arguing in the kitchen over something—or rather, Dave is heatedly retorting to Rose’s cool responses—so Dirk decided to take advantage of the situation and sat on the couch next to Kanaya.  The TV is on some home-improvement show—Dirk recognized it as the one with the twin dudes who are entirely too handsome for their own good.  He sat in silence for a time, pretending to be interested in his phone and what not, but truthfully, he watched Kanaya out of the corner of his eye.

She, poised very still and stiffly, is keeping silent vigil over her cell phone again.

“You know,” Dirk began, unsure how to proceed without sounding like a total jackass, “You mean a lot to my sister, and I respect you a lot.” He decided that is a good opener.  Yeah.  Better start good, and then get better.

“Yes?” Kanaya doesn’t look at him, but he noticed that her lips quirk with a hint of a smile.

“Yes.” Dirk confirmed, inspecting his nails, “Yes, I respect you a lot.  And so, since you’ve been so great for my sister, especially in the past year or two, I think you’re unofficially part of the Strider family.  I’m sure my mom would agree.”  He paused for a moment to consider his next words carefully. “So… I consider you as a sibling as well.”

Kanaya turned her head, and her eyes seemed a bit glossy. “Do you mean that?”

“I’m more serious than a heart attack, Miss Maryam.  You’re part of the Strider clan now, for better or worse.  See this?” He raised his arm. “This is the wing.  Get comfortable, get cozy, say hi to Dave for me.  You’ve been taken under the wing.” He put an arm around her shoulders.  Kanaya laughed wetly and Dirk nodded. “See? That’s what I like to hear. Happy lil Striders and all that shit. So. Don’t uh, don’t think you can’t rely on us and shit.”

He let go of her and Kanaya stared back at her cell phone for a few moments.  She took a deep breath. 

“I am worried about my cousin.” She admitted softly and wrung her hands.  “My grandmother is understandably distressed, as his mother found a note from him, and naturally as he had left home her first instinct was to call grandmother… I reached out for him, and I told him he could stay with me if he so wished, but…”

“Radio silence.” Dirk finished for her.  Kanaya nodded.

“The boy is almost eighteen, so, I know he can take care of himself, but, I hate to think of him on the streets, especially since I care for him as if he we were my brother.”  Kanaya sighed and bit her lip.  Dirk thought of himself in her shoes and nodded.

“I’ll keep an eye out, Kan.  If I see a kid out on the streets or something, I’ll send word.  And I’ll tell Jane and the rest of the Egbert-English clan to keep an eye out too.” He promised to her. 

Kanaya nodded and gave him a genuine smile. “You are very kind, Dirk.  You are a good man.”

Dirk waved off her compliment and thanked her for her hospitality. 

“Well, it would simply be rude to refuse my new brothers at my doorstep.” Kanaya said with a twinkle in her eye.  Dirk smirked. 

“Yeah, yeah.  You really are a Strider at heart.” He bumped her shoulder with his fist and stood.  “Well.  Call me if you have any news, or whatever.  I gotta get back and call my dad, so you can understand I’m so very eager to leave.”  He blanched, and Kanaya giggled into her hand.  Dirk considered that a small victory.

“I wish you good luck, with that conversation.  One’s parental figures prove to be… difficult conversation partners, at least in my own experience.” She said, and Dirk couldn’t help but agree.

“You got that right.  Good luck to you too. Dave, come on.” He called to his brother (“Bro! We can’t be leaving already, I almost got Rose to admit she was wrong!” “You haven’t, David, and nor will you.  You should accept defeat while Dirk has given you a reason to leave with some dignity.” “Goddamnit—!”) and, in the doorway, as he laced his shoes back on, he glanced back to Rose and Kanaya.  They were good for each other.  If Dave found someone half as good as Kanaya, male or female or nonbinary or agender, doesn’t matter, if that person was half as good to him as Kanaya is to Rose, then Dirk would never worry about Dave’s wellbeing for the rest of their lives. 

Kanaya rested her head on Rose’s shoulder, and Rose placed a kiss on her knuckles.  Dirk said farewell one last time and led Dave back outside.

Once they were in the car, Dave asked after Kanaya.  Dirk shrugged.

“She’s fine,” He answered, but even then he mused that, if she didn’t get word over her wayward cousin, maybe she wouldn’t be. “She’s worried about somebody.”  Dave nodded.

“Hey bro?”

“What’s up?”

“How come every time we have dinner at Rose’s, some weird shenanigans are always happening?” Dave asked, poker-faced, but Dirk knew he was genuinely really curious.  Dirk thought back to the first, near disastrous dinner they had with Kanaya, which had been their introduction to the poised and prim woman, and Rose’s errant nerves that day.  So much broken glass…

“You know, Dave, that’s probably one of the best questions you’ve ever asked me,” He said by way of reply, “But I don’t have answers for you, except, maybe Murphy’s Law, if Murphy’s Law somehow fused with every fucking possibility of the worst case scenario of every important event in our lives.”

Dave laughed, and Dirk drove on back towards home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the huge gap between chapter 2 and chapter 3! This fic is not dead, I have just been very busy. Be excited--an important plot point has just been set up! :)


	4. TRACK FOUR. I Steal (Only What I Can't Afford)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk and Jane have lunch together and have an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *updates fic more in 2 days than I have in 2 years*

The heat of summer is still all kinds of oppressive, even as July turns to August, and August slowly, lethargically makes it way towards September.  There’s still no sign of Kanaya’s wayward cousin, but Dirk didn’t forget, certainly not.  They live in a huge city, and if somebody doesn’t want to be found, they won’t be.

Dave’s got school soon, starting the following Thursday.  Dirk made sure his little bro was tricked out with the finest shit they could afford, fresh Chucks, those cool colorful looking inky pens that Dave always doodles with, ironic t-shirts, new backpack (Dave had picked one of those hipster messenger bags.  Dirk hadn’t approved until he’d actually inspected the thing.  Fine craftsmanship, good stitching, thick material, lots of pockets, and actually hella fucking comfortable on the shoulders.  Nice, Dirk should get one of these for himself.) and notebooks up the wazoo.  He almost bought Dave a new laptop too, only for Dave to grab his wrist and lead him straight out of Best Buy, grumbling about him being “embarrassing” and “god bro fuckin chill” and “my current laptop works just fine”.  Whatever, maybe he’ll give it to the kid for his birthday or Christmas or maybe just subtly slip onto his desk when he’s not looking.  Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

But since Dave has school soon, Dirk’s been letting him take a few days off from the shop and hang out with his friends and let Rose and Kanaya spoil him silly and sleep over at Egbert’s or whatever Dave does when he’s not home.  Beyond the times when Dirk has to work at the Zahhak garage, he doesn’t make Dave man the shop—in fact, sometimes he waves the kid out of there and plops his ass down on the stool behind the counter impassively until Dave finally gives in and leaves.

So that’s why, today, Dirk is alone in Walkman on a Friday afternoon, and the heat outside looks boiling, and even though Dirk is admittedly hungry as fuck, he doesn’t want to give up his air-conditioned slice of paradise behind the counter.

He would have asked Jane for lunch in advance, but he wouldn’t inflict the summer sun on his worst enemies, let alone Jane.  He shook his head and texts her instead.

TT: Hey, Jane. You on your break yet?

GG: Why, you happen to be in luck, Mister Strider! I am indeed. I just sat down with an iced mocha when you sent your message.

GG: Hoo hoo! Would I be correct in deducing you’re currently bored out of your mind?

TT: You would, indeed. Excellent deduction, Detective Crocker.

TT: I am beyond impressed. Your deductive skills are so fucking mindblowing that mere mortals can’t handle the complexity that you breeze on through like Amelia Earhart pioneering the way.  Damn, Jane, to us simpletons, the inner machinations of your mind are an enigma.

GG: Hoo hoo hoo!

GG: Well shucks, Dirk.

TT: What the fuck, Jane, how many times have I told you to watch your fucking language?

GG: Sorry! Hoo hoo! It just slips out from time to time.

GG: Anyway, Dirk, would you like to cure your boredom?  Come have lunch here!

TT: Not sure if I should, Janey.  I’d have to close up shop.

GG: The shop can wait for twenty, thirty minutes.  If you want to save time, I can have an Italian soda, a slice of orange tarte and a lox sandwich ready by the time you arrive.

GG: You could even have a cupcake.  Red velvet?

TT: … You drive a hard bargain, Miss Crocker. You had me at Italian soda.

TT: I’m beginning to think someone was onto something when they came up with that old adage.

GG: Which one?

TT: The way through a man’s heart is through his stomach.

GG: Well! Awfully forward, aren’t you?

TT: So forward that you wouldn’t even believe.

TT: So forward that one would think I’m from 2409, I’m so forward.

GG: I suppose that settles it! Take a break, I will see you in a few minutes! <3

TT: <3

Dirk even hummed a little as he turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED, with a quick note that “We’ll be back in 30” added underneath.  He didn’t think that the shop would be terribly busy around this time anyhow, most people would be at the local restaurants and cafes instead.  He began to walk the short distance around the block to _Sweet Dreams Café and Bakery_ , the business that Jane ran with a couple of friends.  It was a cute, cozy little place with classy old-time charm—all pastel blues and accented reds and whites, fancy curtains, curving banisters, and lacy doilies and a French-style feeling to the windows and the grouping of tables outside.  He liked it a lot—it suited Jane very well, and she seemed happy, which is what she deserves and more.  Though, when he has a little bit less on is plate, he wonders if he can tinker with her ovens and refrigerators to make improvements for her.

His phone vibrated in his hand as he approached the door, so naturally his first instinct was to check the notification—for this reason, he did not see the short, stocky kid already standing there.

“Watch it!” The kid growled, all vitriol and vicious teeth.  Dirk was impressed.  That’s one way to get people to stay the hell out of your way. 

“Sorry, dude.” Dirk said, feeling his neck burn a bit.  He rubbed the spot, glad his shades concealed his eyes. “But, you know, you are kind of blocking the door.”

“Oh.” The kid ran a hand through his shaggy black hair.  It was curly, and covered his eyes in this emo-scene hairstyle that Dirk himself remembers sporting back when he was a teenager.  He was in these tight hipster-style… shorts? Capris? And a black hoodie.  In the middle of summer.  Dirk shook his head.

“Kid, are you coming or going?” he asked, “I’m on lunch right now but I’ve only got another twenty minutes.”

“Sorry.” The teen replied, and by way of showing good faith, he opened the door for him.  Dirk shrugged and entered first. 

Jane had another set of those jingly bells at her own door and Dirk privately reveled in the little brass tinkling.  Everything in the café was light, and the bell matched that aesthetic.  By one of the huge windows, he noticed Jane, sitting with her back to the door with several plates and cups in front of her. 

“Hullo, Mister Strider!” A chipper voice greeted him.  He glanced up.  Behind the counter was a familiar lanky Caucasian male.  He had that undercut hairstyle that’s been popular recently, a chestnut brown, and gentle blue eyes behind a pair of steel-framed glasses.  He wore a navy blue apron that matched the one that Jane had hung over the back of her chair.

“Oh, hey, Josh.” He waved a hand at him, but didn’t meet his eyes.  Joshua Smith was a cool guy, don’t get Dirk wrong—he had met Jane when she’d lived in London with her mom, and of course now the two are platonically bonded for life in their mutual love of baking and sympathy over their same living situations involving overbearing, controlling rich parents that they have currently left to take refuge with their overbearing, loving parent instead.  he’s handso—uh, handsy-- _shit_ —he’s _handy_ to have around for sure, he know everything from savvy business practices to how to tell big corporations to fuck off and had a deft hand when it came to whipping cream and frosting cakes.  He was also charming as hell and had a face as gentle and sweet as his voice and mannerisms. 

He was also hot as hell.

And also married, to this flamboyant twink that Dirk doesn’t particular care for, but he’s friends with Roxy, so he must be all right.

“On your lunchbreak?” Josh asked, and Dirk almost swallowed his tongue.  Stupid lousy goddamn crush.

He’s saved though by Jane, who hopped up from her seat and quickly embraced him. Josh, respectfully, busies himself with the customers who had been patiently waiting.

“Dirk!” Jane’s smile brightened the room and Dirk, as usual when he enters her establishment, felt like Jane and Josh have too much charm for the whole street.  Was it the baking thing?  He briefly feared that he has a thing for only bakers.

“Jane.” He took off his shades, only for her, just so he can look into those blue eyes of hers.  They twinkle with mischief, and she quickly pecks him on the corner of his lips. 

“You’re getting tan lines from your shades, Strider!” she teased, and instead of replying, he kissed her.

“Cheap shot, Dirk.” she laughed, cheeks pinked.  Jane wasn’t much for public displays of affection, and if he would probably apologize later, but right now, it just felt like good fun.  They sat down at her table.

“Jane, I’m going to have to get down on knee right now, nay, I will prostrate myself at your feet if it means you will marry me and feed me delicious treats like this all the time.” Dirk proclaimed.  The small table was crowded with their lunches and sweet, sumptuous Crocker (and probably Smith) treats.

“Funny you say that, your brother already claimed he’d do something to that effect yesterday.” Jane said as Dirk surveyed the promised Italian soda, bagel sandwich, fruit tarte, and cupcake before him, as well as a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and what appeared to be a small box of cookies and a couple other sweet treats.  He reached for the box, but Jane swatted his hand with her napkin.

“Ah ah, nope.  Those are for you to snack on _later_ , after you eat your lunch.” she scolded playfully, at which Dirk pouted. “Oh no, those eyes aren’t going to work on me this time, Dirk Strider!” He persisted with his puppy dog eyes, the eyes that would get him extra candies and sodas from his mom, the eyes that would get his dad to slip him an extra five bucks before he went to school.  Those eyes, whose evil he only unleashes for desperate measures.  For Dirk, sweets are a first and only, especially if they were made at the hands of Jane Crocker.

Jane didn’t budge.

Dirk didn’t relent.

She gestured at his cupcake, and, upon her making a move to take it away, Dirk yelped and quickly put his hand on hers.

“All right, you win this time, you infernal batter witch.” he grumbled.  Jane released a soft ‘hoo hoo!’ of laughter and took her hands back as Dirk began to eat his lunch.

They chatted softly, about inanities—Jake and Jade’s recent quest to plant foreign flora in Jane’s flower beds, to no avail, Dirk’s projects, their respective little brothers and businesses and the like, as Josh’s soft voice carried in the air, lilting in and out over the quiet undertones of Jane’s eclectic music collection of jaunty piano pieces, current and long-forgotten pop hits, classical jazz, and acapella covers.

“Yes, so the last time that Mother called, well, Dad told her to stuff it!  He used some rather unsavory language, I didn’t even know my dad was even capable of using such vulgar language!” Jane finished regaling the tale of her family’s recent escapades, only to stop and narrow her eyes at Dirk with a twinkle of playfulness.  His mind had wandered, and of course his gaze happened to now rest on the man behind the counter.  “Dirk, I don’t have to worry about you sweeping Josh into a life of adultery, do I?  Will I wake up to headlines reading, ‘Local entrepreneur found dead in crime of passion’, only to find out that Josh’s husband murdered you in a fit of jealousy?  As much as I enjoy my detectives, I don’t exactly wish our lives to _become_ a film noir.”

Dirk jolted and looked at Jane. “What? Oh, shit, no, dude, but uh, should I be worried that you don’t sound the least bit jealous?”

Jane blinked. “Should I be? Darling, I trust you.” she said, putting a hand over his, and Dirk felt his cheeks heat up and he would swear unironically that his heart grew three sizes that day. 

He kissed her knuckles.  “And I trust you.  Nah, sorry I spaced out on you, Jane.  Josh just looks kind of distressed over there talking to that customer.  I think they’re arguing.”  He took a sip of his drink as Jane turned her head to look at the scene unfolding at the counter.

The wannabe emo kid that Dirk had bumped into at the door was arguing with Josh, it appeared.  And by arguing, it meant that the kid was probably yelling at the poor guy while he just nodded and patiently explained that there was nothing he could do.  The kid pointed at the counter—maybe there was some money he’d put down? And Josh shook his head, held his hands up, an apologetic expression on his face.

The kid’s shoulder sank and then, without warning, he vaulted over the counter.  Josh shrieked, and with a clatter, Jane and Dirk quickly both stood, their chairs scraping against the tile floor. 

All other noise seemed to go quiet over the blood in his ear and laserpoint focus as Dirk flashstepped the sizable distance from the window to counter to intercept the kid, Jane shouting as the boy shoved Josh aside and started grabbing as many baguettes as he could carry. 

“Drop them, kid.” Dirk said as calmly and gently as he could.  “It ain’t worth it.”

He looked up at him with wild eyes, as Jane approached them. 

“What’s going on here?” she asked.  Bless her, she was one of the best things to ever happen to Dirk, but God knew that when she was pissed, she made damn sure that everyone knew it from a mile away.

Startled, the boy sprinted for the exit.  There was a stunned gasp from all the bystanders in the room as he passed and Dirk tore after him, jumping over a table and probably toppling it as well.  The guy seemed wholly focused on getting out, with the kind of focus and probable tunnel vision that Dirk recognized in all his family members. He was so focused that he didn’t even know what hit him when Dirk launched himself toward him, and the two went barreling to the ground.  And of course, Jane, not to be outdone, lobbed the nearest cake she could at them, (“My cake!” Josh shrieked, scandalized.) a mash of cream and chocolate cake and strawberries landing right on the thief’s back as he and Dirk rolled and wrestled on the floor of the café. 

“Stop, stop, just, fucking STOP!” Dirk shouted, finally slamming the kid on his stomach and gripping his wrists tightly.  The boy wheezed—winded, maybe?—and tried to kick at him.  The frosting proved to be too creamy for Dirk to keep a proper grip with his hostage’s wriggling, and he successfully managed to free himself with one well-timed kick to Dirk’s face.  Startled, Dirk struggled to clear his vision enough to react as the boy scrambled to stand—he motioned to leap at him again until—

SPLAT!

\--until Jane came, her red heels clicking against the floor and she stopped before the thief, glaring down at his pie-covered face.  It looked like banana crème pie, as it dripped off of him.  He stared up at her, fearful and stunned.  Beside him lay he three baguettes he’d managed to snatch, somewhat mashed in the tussle.  Dirk took the opportunity to slam him back to the floor, wrists properly in hand once more. 

“Now, you will cease this tousling and resisting or I _will_ call the police on you and you will not like that.  Josh!” Jane barked, and the mild-mannered baker nearly jumped clear out of his skin.  “Fetch me some wet rags.” And after a moment of thought, she quickly added, “and bring the string as well, in case our thief gets a little too wriggly.”

Jane took off her apron and knelt next to Dirk and their would-be thief.  She used it to tie the forearms of the kid, so that Dirk wouldn’t have to hold him back. 

“What the fuck are you doing—I have rights—Jesus Christ you can’t do this--!” the kid struggled to form a complete sentence, it seemed, but it was definitely obvious he was ten kinds of angry at the moment.

“You can have your arms back once you _calm down_ ,” Jane clarified, swatting him upside the head. “You are unbelievable!  You rob my store and you think _I_ am the one flying off the handle?” She scoffed. “Maybe I should call the police after all.”

“No, don’t, Christ, don’t do that, I know, I’m an unbelievable asswipe, I am a shitstain on the earth, I am absolutely a fucking trashcan deserved to be thrown at the bottom of your dumpster of rage but Jesus Christ do not call the fucking police on me I swear to God they will kill me and I just wanted a goddamn piece of bread I’m just so hungry, please--!” For all his anger and rage, the threat of Jane calling the police sends him into tears.  Dirk sat him up and squeezed his shoulder.  If someone had told him a week ago he’d be accused of salacious intentions with Joshua Smith and tackle a kid who probably weighs fifty pounds less than him while his… Jane… (hmm, they’d have to discuss that some other time) pelted baked goods at them, well, he’d probably nod and tell that person that it’s the same shit as always, a typical week in the life of Dirk Strider, and give them a friendly fist bump. 

Jane’s angry face softened at the pitiful sight of this boy who wouldn’t even grow peach fuzz, who on closer inspection was dirty and disheveled, as he sobbed and cried tears and snot into the mush of cream and bananas and cake he was covered in.  Dirk looked at Jane, feeling just as helpless as her and knowing exactly what she was thinking—this boy was around the same age as their baby brothers. 

Josh, with a sympathetic look, bent down and handed Jane the wet towels she asked for.  She handed one to Dirk, which he took gratefully, and the other she used to begin gently cleaning the boy’s face.

“Don’t cry, you blithering ninny,” she said softly as he made a confused noise, “I won’t call the boys in blue if you slow down and _talk_ to us.  Come now—shh shh, there’s a lad.  Clean yourself up a little, all right?” 

The boy nodded and took the towel from her hand obediently.  Jane looked at Josh and nodded towards the door.  He nodded back and scurried away.  Dirk supposed he was probably off to get a mop, or send the remaining confused customers away, or perhaps shut the shop to give them all privacy.  Standing, Dirk slowly stepped around the piles of cake and cream and began doing what he could to help Jane and Josh out as she interrogated the boy.  He carefully replaced the upended chairs and tables—which Jane immediately took advantage of, sitting their intruder down across from her, and used napkins to clean up the cake and pie remnants.

“What’s your name?” Jane asked.

“Karkat.  My name is Karkat Vantas.” he answered, and sniffed again.

“Dirk, sweetheart, please ask Josh to make Karkat a sandwich and to bring a cup of ice water.  What would you like on your sandwich?” she asked him gently, then, upon Jane quickly explaining what options they had, he settled on a lox sandwich.  Dirk could respect anybody who could appreciate the deliciousness of salted salmon and cream cheese married together and prospering in a bagel love nest as much as he does, be they friend or foe.  He hasn’t decided if this Karkat is either.

“Yeah, all right.”  He squeezed Jane’s shoulder as he passed her.  Josh was all too eager to comply, as Jane and Karkat continued to speak in the awkward silence of the business.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”  Jane inhaled sharply and exchanged a look with Dirk.  The kid— _Karkat_ —scowled. 

“Fuck, are you idiots done looking at each other like the protagonists of some shitty Hallmark movie?  Yeah okay I’m seventeen, what a ~plot twist~, wow, but don’t fucking confer with each other like that when I’m right here! God, you said you wanted to talk to me, so fucking do it!” he snapped.

“Er.” Jane was definitely taken aback by that. “Goodness.”

“Sorry!” Karkat threw his hands up in the air, and then crossed his arms in a huff. “I have a fucking temper, yeah, I know! Fucking ask.”

“Okay, moving on,” she cleared her throat, deciding that she would rather move on from the issue than make a huge argument over it.  “What brings you to robbing a little bakery like mine?”

“… I like this place.  My grandma buys your bread sometimes.  You make good shit. And I haven’t eaten in a few days.”  It seems like Karkat can be quiet when he chooses, Dirk noted.

“And why is that?” Jane prodded.

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “I uh.  I fuckin’ ran away from home a while ago… I was staying with a friend, but uh, my brother found me, so I left on Wednesday and I’ve kinda been.” He gestured vaguely with his hand but they knew what he meant.  On the street.

“Why did you run away?” Jane asked gently. “I have a brother too… I imagine yours must be worried sick.”

Karkat didn’t answer but his cheeks darkened.  “You don’t know that.  My brother is an asshole.”

“So’s mine,” Dirk chimed in, “but he’d still want to know where my sorry ass disappeared to if I just all up and left.”

Karkat sighed. “If you must know, I left because my mom is a spineless weakling and my stepdad is a disgusting fucking excuse for a human being, so disgraceful that I want him to rot in hell for the rest of eternity, and that’s all there is to fucking say on the matter.” he explained in a low growl.  Dirk whistled.  Damn, the kid really was a stereotype for all the scene and emo kids he’d ever known in high school and the little amount of college he’d went to.

Wait a sec.

“Hang on... When did you leave home, again?”

 

* * *

 

An hour and a half later, Jane and Dirk sit on the couch at the Strider family home with Karkat in an armchair across from them.  Dave, luckily, went out to hang out with John and Jade for a little while, and he wasn’t due back until after he ate dinner at the Egbert house.  Dirk doesn’t think Dave would approve of the fact he stole some of his brother’s clothes, but oh well, he’ll just replace them for him, it won’t be so bad.  The only issue was that Dave was taller than Karkat, so the clothes were a little long on him, making him seem much younger than he is. 

At the doorbell, all of them jolted. 

“I’ll get it.” Dirk announced, crossing to the door.  There stood Rose and Kanaya, the latter pushing forward.

“Is he all right? Did you find him? Where is he?” she asked breathlessly. 

“Woah, Kan.  Karkat’s all right, he’s sitting in my chair right now actually.  We fed him and even let him have a shower so he’s just chilling.” he explained. “From what we understand, he had a fight at home and he doesn’t wanna go back to his parents’ house, so don’t go pushin’ that shit on the kid, all right?” he warned.

“Thank you, Dirk.” Kanaya threw her arms around him and squeezed him in a hug, then hurried into the living room, Rose slowly following.

“Karkat Vantas!  I have been worried sick about you!” Kanaya cried, and Karkat shrank a little in his chair.

“Two months, and nothing! You promised you would call me once you had a place to stay!” Dirk pitied the poor guy—he’d been getting lectures left and right.  What shocked him was when Kanaya, in all her excitement and probable hysteria, began shouting at Karkat in different languages—Spanish? French? Whatever it was, it was damn effective, and the shame Karkat felt seemed to bleed into the room.

But as he watched Kanaya embrace her cousin and Karkat mumble his apologies, Dirk knew he’d be in good hands.  Jane reached toward Dirk and he obediently sat next to her. 

“Do you think it’ll be all right?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.” Dirk replied, eyes focusing on a hole in Jane’s black tights. “If not well, I’ll help them somehow.”

“It was a good thing you two were the ones to catch him, rather than anyone else.” Rose said to them, and Dirk shrugged.

“I guess.  He’s just a kid, he had nowhere to go.”

“You say he’s ‘just a kid’, but…” Rose’s eyes darkened. “Dirk, you know very well that it’s not safe for boys younger than Karkat of his same skin color to be around police officers.  They shoot first and ask questions later.  Pigs.”

Jane nodded.  “He was absolutely terrified when I threatened to call the police.”

“I am glad, for Kanaya’s sake and for Karkat’s, that you didn’t.  It is not my place to explain, but, I can tell you with certainty that their family does not have the best history with our esteemed officers of the law.” Rose scowled.

Dirk frowned at that. “Shit.  Poor kid.”

“Yes…” Rose looked thoughtful for a moment. “If he would like to, he is welcome to stay with Kanaya and me. But only if he wants to. We won’t force him to go anywhere he doesn’t want to go.” She promised, and Dirk nodded.

“Damn straight you won’t.  He’d just run away again, and then where would he be?”

The girls’ faces darkened as they considered his point, and not for the first time Dirk cursed himself silently for being a tactless moron. 

But then, Dirk heard the front door open, and the three distinct voices drifted towards them as three distinct footsteps warned them before John, Jade, and Dave filed into the house.  Dirk frowned.

“I thought you weren’t comin’ home till later?” he asked.

Dave shrugged, rummaging through a drawer of the entertainment center. “Egbert only has two controllers so…” He glanced up, then again, and finally his gaze settled on Kanaya and Karkat, who were staring back at him.

“Oh, shit.  You’re Kanaya’s cousin?”

Karkat squinted back at Dave.  “How do you know my cousin, Strider?”

One heartbeat.  Two.

Finally, Jade broke the silence. “Karkat? What are you doing here?”

“I ran away from home, crashed at Sollux’s for a while, then I stole some bread from Egbert’s sister and Strider’s brother tackled me to the ground.”

Well, that’s more or less what happened.

Dirk surveyed the motley crew before him—him and his siblings, his sister’s girlfriend and her cousin, his brother’s best friend and his cousin, who both happened to be related to Dirk’s uh—shit he still hasn’t had time to ask Jane what the hell they were—and he can’t help but marvel at the serendipity of the idiocy around him.  Six degrees of separation meant nothing to this family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Karkat arc has now begun. Nice. Hang on tight, kids, we've got a mess of family drama and weird coincidences coming up. Nothing is ever simple when the Striders are involved.  
> Also, give it up for a new secondary character of this fic, my OC Joshua Smith, a guy who, coincedentally, has a very similar background to this universe's Jane, and will probably pop up every now and then. But that's all in good time ;)


	5. TRACK FIVE. Fun for the Whole Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People Talk: The Chapter. Or, alternatively:  
> People talk and Karkat gets Real Fucking Sick of it.

So here we are—three Striders, two Egberts, one English, one Vantas, and one Maryam, gathered in Dirk and Dave’s living room, all staring at each other with varying levels of confusion and amusement, Rose’s face probably being the one displaying most of the latter feelings. 

Jade, Dave, and John, all spattered with a good layer of mud and grass stains, squished into one of the two beaten old loveseats, over which hung an odd painting of Cal’s.

On their right, perpendicular: Dirk, fresh out of the shower, hair still wet and uncomfortably un-spiked, seated on one side of the couch.  And Jane, high heels cast aside at the door and work uniform replaced by one of Dirk’s button-down shirts, seated next to Dirk in the loveseat, her legs drawn up under her.

Karkat, wearing cast-off clothes slightly too long for him, eyes still red and shadowed with exhaustion, in Cal’s old armchair, to Dirk’s right.

Kanaya, designer clothes rumpled from her previous excitement, now looking content, squeezed into the armchair next to Karkat.  Dirk didn’t even know two adult-sized people could actually fit in the damn thing.

And then finally Rose, the picture of poise and grace, seated primly on the coffee table, facing Karkat and Kanaya.

“Okay, just to get this straight, y’all,” Dave began in a drawl, crossing his arms, “Kanaya is Karkat’s cousin.”

“Correct. We share a grandmother.” Kanaya confirmed.

“And Kanaya and Rose have been dating for a long while, which is news to absolutely fucking nobody, but Karkat didn’t know Rose is my big sister?” Dave continued.

“Well yeah, it’s not like I ever fucking paid attention to nor _wanted_ to know the oh-so-sophisticated goings on in the _amazing_ private lives of a douchey arrogant loud-mouth bleach-blond hipster asshole or a pretentious holier-than-thou self-important bitch, regardless of whether or not the goddamn aforementioned self-important bitch is involved with my oh so dearest cousin.” Karkat dryly replied, and Dirk had to be impressed at the kid’s snark.  He described Dirk’s siblings better than Dirk could in twice as many syllables and sarcasm.

(“I am not self-important.” Rose protested.

“You didn’t deny the other things, though.” Kanaya responded with a mischievous smile that, had anyone other than Rose’s family or Kanaya had presented to her, would have had it removed from their face in no less than ten words from Rose.  Fortunately it was Kanaya who presented Rose with such a crafty expression, and as such, Rose pouted instead.  Dirk tried not to smirk, and while he didn’t outright fail, he didn’t quite succeed either.)

“Okay, moving on,” Dave cut in, loudly drawing attention away from Rose and Kanaya’s aside, “So Karkat hates us, yeah, whatever, and Egderp and Harley have been friends for…?” He made a vague hand motion, signaling at them to answer.

“Um?” John pursed his lips, then glanced at Jade. “I don’t know about Jade, but I’ve known Karkat since we were… 12?”

“Something like that…” Karkat grumbled.  “We met on some goddamn shitty fucking MMO.”

“And I met Karkat a little bit after that!” Jade added.  Dave lifted his shades and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Okay, okay,” he continued, then squinted at them all again.  “And _I_ met Karkat in band class of course.” He nodded again.  Even if their convoluted relations weren’t quite as dramatic or complex as Dave was presenting them, like he was a fucking lawyer presenting evidence to the judge and jury or something, Dirk didn’t blame him for trying to work all this stuff out.  He kind of appreciated it.  He didn’t much keep track of Dave’s school life beyond Egbert and Harley, truthfully.

“All right, recap.  Y’all are schoolmates,” Dirk put in, trying to condense everything as much as possible, and also for his own mental processing, “and y’all,” he gestured at Karkat, Jade, and John, “are childhood friends thanks to Warcraft or whatever.” (“It was SBURB!” John groaned. “God, shut up, that game was soooo eighth grade.” Jade added, though Dirk ignored this aside.)

Dirk turned to Karkat and Kanaya. “These two, as established, are cousins.”

He pointed to John. “My lil bro’s best bro,” then, he gestured to John and Jade. “Y’all are cousins.”

Then, he pointed at Rose and Kanaya.

“Lesbians.” He said simply. Kanaya stifled a laugh in her sleeve.  Dirk smirked at her.  Then, he gestured once more to John, and then to Jane.

“Siblings.”

Jane smiled, then waved at herself and then to Dirk.  “Dirk and Jane,” she explained.  Then she pointed at herself and Karkat.  “Esteemed cake seller.”  She grinned cheekily at the boy; Karkat grumbled something to Kanaya, but she quickly swatted his arm in reply.

Dirk chuckled.  “True enough, gumshoe.” He ignored the wiggling eyebrows of his little bro or the curious glance John gave Jane; once more, a conversation meant to have anytime except right now.  “Anyway…”

Finally, he gestured at himself, Dave, and Rose. “Last but not least, Striders. There. Mystery solved.”

“Well shit,” Dave drawled, “That’s a hell of a mystery no one thought was a mystery and didn’t need solving.  But damn if it didn’t just get solved, so nice work, bro.”

“That was a fucking waste of time!” Karkat exclaimed, launching out of the chair.  “Christ, can I just go now? Why the hell did you just spend fifteen minutes explaining how we’re all related, that’s a goddamn idiotic usage of time, and, did I mention? Completely unfuckingnecessary!”

“Jeez, calm down, Crabkat.  I was just trying to come to a logical conclusion to why the hell you’re in my house.” Dave said in reply, his eyebrow raising as the only sign of his irritation.  He picked at a mudstain on his shirt.  “I mean, sweet, darling, Kanaya came to us asking if we could keep an eye out for her dear, hopeless, missing cousin, nobody’s heard from you since school let out, now you turn up at _my house…”_

Karkat’s face turned with red, and Dirk could swear he saw the kid’s eye twitch.

“It’s none of your fucking business!” He huffed, but turned away in obvious defeat.

“Uh, were you like, not paying attention or something?  Earth to Karkat, NASA’s calling, mission control has a very important mission briefing that you just missed, nice going, Vantas, you fucking blew up the goddamn planet because you couldn’t drill into the asteroid—,”

“Was that an Armageddon reference?” John asked.  Dave just elbowed him.

“Man don’t interrupt me, that’s hells of fuckin rude.  Anyway, KK, my dude, my guy, NASA regrets to inform you that it is my business, if the stupidly long explanation of our convoluted relationship wasn’t enough to go by… it _is_ my house?  And my bro’s best bro’s café you made a mess in?  And my sis’s girlfriend who is your cousin?  And my best bros who are also your best bros, therefore making us honorary best bros since, news flash, we are kind of friends, therefore, Q.E.D., bitch, it is my business.”

“That was just another convoluted explanation to how we’re all related, and all stuff we all know again,” Jade protested, but Jane shook her head, so she quieted down.  Striders were all kinds of verbose, and there’s no way of stopping them once they got started.  On the bright side, at least this was more entertaining than Mario Kart.

Karkat sighed.  “Of all the cafes in all the world…” he grumbled,  “Can we just be done with this?” He crossed his arms.  “Yeah, fuck, whatever, past Karkat did a bunch of stupid shit, but here’s a concept: let’s not talk about it.”

“Overruled.” Kanaya replied, tugging him back into the chair with her.  He scowled, but didn’t stand again.  Kanaya patted his head, and then turned to Jane.  “I am so sorry for the trouble he caused at your place of business.  I appreciate so much what you and Dirk did for Karkat, regardless of the sour attitude he may have presented or any inconvenience it may had to yourselves.   I can pay reparations to you, if you see that as adequate compensation,” she said to Jane.

Jane waved her hand. “No, no, I couldn’t possibly accept.  I am just glad he is safe!  Were our tables turned, I am certain you would have done the same for me or Dirk!”

Kanaya tilted her head.  Her cheeks were dusted with a light blush.  “Thank you.” She said, “Still, I don’t know how we can possibly repay your kindnesses.”

“Hell, Kanaya.  I told you to make yourself comfortable under The Wing, right? The full Strider Experience.” Dirk leaned back in his own seat. “But y’know, I just had an idea that might help both of you.”

“Oh, shit.  Dirk’s getting all kinds of motherfucking magnanimous up in this bitch?” Dave gasped theatrically.  Dirk waved him off. 

“Anyway,” He began, eying Karkat and Kanaya, “if it’s cool with Dave, I was thinking of offering Karkat a job at Walkman.”

“Wait, what.”

“What?” A series of voices replied.

Dirk raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Yeah. I mean. Why not?”

Rose raised an eyebrow.  She uncrossed her legs, and, hands folded in her lap, straightened up and met Dirk’s gaze.

“I think,” She began, speaking for the first time in several minutes, “That Dirk is right.  The shop certainly would run better with more than two people, and Karkat’s assistance would certainly take a lot of stress off of my brothers’ entrepreneurial shoulders…” She placed a finger to her chin in thought.  “That alone would thusly fulfill the terms of compensation Kanaya is currently thinking about, and would also be beneficial to Karkat.”

“How.” The kid spoke a single word, flatly.

“Work experience, a steady income, flexibile hours, a workplace close to home, and, in the longrun, means to secure your own place of residence, since you are so keen on staying away from your parents—which is a decision I completely respect, and is why Kanaya and I are opening our spare room to you upon the end of this conversation.” Rose smiled at Karkat.  It was a smile neither warm nor cold, neither welcoming nor hostile; it was the kind of smile that was the silent satisfaction of a checkmate, made all the more unsettling by her dark lipstick.

“Deal, or no deal, I guess, kid.” Dirk shrugged, shooting a glance at Dave. 

“You can’t beat that, dude, you gotta admit that at least,” Dave agreed, though he didn’t seem overly joyed by the prospect.

“You should do it, Karkat! Working in the music shop would be good for you!” Jade added with a smile.

“Yeah, you love music!” John also put in his two cents.  Karkat didn’t seem particularly excited either; with each person’s input, he seemed to grow exponentially more distressed. Dirk wondered how long it would take for an outburst.  Jane, also seeming to sense this, hesitated for a moment before contributing to the peanut gallery. 

“The, ah, alternative could be working in my bakery, if being with these two for extended periods of time seems… daunting…” Jane offered gently, looking at Karkat in concern.  “I understand this may all be very overwhelming, this a lot happening all at once—…”

“You’re damn right it is!” Karkat cried out, throwing his hands up.  “Do I even get a fucking say in the matter? You guys are all planning this out in front of me like I’m some fucking invalid or something! News flash! I’m right fucking here and I’d like to think about it on my own without you all shoving fucking ideas down my fucking throat! I’m going to ask one last time before I leave on my own: can I _fucking leave_ already? I don’t want to deal with this shit right now, and the more you assholes try to make me the more I would rather be sleeping in a fucking alley than listen to you all yammer on!” He breathed deeply.  His eyes shut for a moment. “I’m not—I’m not ungrateful for the shit you guys have done, looked for me, gave me a free lunch and clothes and a shower and shit, found Kanaya, that’s great, this is probably one of the best days I’ve had in a month.  But for fuck’s sake, I am _tired_.  I’ll fucking…get back to you guys, or whatever.”  He stood up, glancing around at everyone as if expecting a firing squad or something of equal bodily harm.

“Uh, well…  I was _gonna_ say you didn’t have to say yeah now… or even tomorrow… like, just, whenever you’re feeling up to it, dude, the offer’s on the table.  The table is completely ready and willing to house, clothe, and feed the offer until an adoption paper for it with your name on it comes its way. The table will keep that offer safe until you’re ready to come pick it up, Karkat.” Dirk said, his Brotherly Instinct kicking in to try and tell the kid he’s completely justified in taking a bit of sabbatical—shit, he’s been homeless and alone for months, nice going in trying to be understanding of his emotional state, Dirk.

Karkat took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Bullshit aside. Yeah. That’s. Fair.” He looked at Kanaya, and she nodded.

“Well,” she said breezily, standing, “I suppose that it is settled for now.  Until next time, Striders.” She nodded to Jane, John, and Jade as well, before leading Karkat out of the house.

Rose watched after her lover and then looked at Dirk.  “A pleasure as always working with you, Dirk.”  She smiled.  “That was a truly magnanimous offer.”

“Well, had to throw him a bone somehow.  Thanks for backing me up, Rose.”  He stood and gave her a hug.  “I guess call me when Karkat’s ready to talk business?”

She nodded. “Of course. Take care, Dirk.”  She turned to Dave. “And you too, little brother.”  She kissed his cheek, leaving a purple smear that, while Dave didn’t seem too pleased about, he didn’t try to rub it off either.

“See you, Rose.” He said as the only female member of the Strider siblings took her home.  Without her, Kanaya, and Karkat, the living room, with its high ceilings and copious seating space, outrageously large television, and other accoutrements that signified is purpose as a family type room, seemed all the more empty.

As the door shut in the foyer, leaving the Harley-Crocker-Egberts and the two remaining Striders alone, Dave looked at Dirk.

“Bro, uh…” He pursed his lips. “About Karkat—,”

Dirk sighed and waved his hand dismissively, slumping more into the couch.  “Later, Dave.  It’s been a long fuckin’ day.  We can talk about it after dinner, or something, all right, bro?”

Dave paused, but after a moment, gave his thumbs up.

“More importantly...? Why are you three covered in dirt and grass stains, not that I’m judging.”  He used the patented _Strider Eyebrow Raise_ at teens in question.

“We uh, fell into the creekbed.” John coughed, eying Dave and Jade cautiously.

“Jake told a story about a body being found in the creek once so Jade was scared Karkat was like, dead, or something.” Dave immediately blurted out.  Jade swatted his arm.

“Dave! What the fuck!”

“Well,” Jane sighed, stretching her legs out, “I am definitely glad that he’s not, though he did give my dear friend Josh quite the fright earlier.  Poor man.  I will have to call him tonight and tell him the news of Karkat’s status, heaven knows he’s worried himself silly.

“But for now!” She stood, smiling at the lot of them.  “For now, I think, I’m going to make dinner for all of us, because it seems like we’ve all had quite the long day!”

“Now that, Crocker,” Dirk said, “ _that_ is one damn good bargain if I ever heard one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, leave a message for the boys or a drabble set in this AU at: striderjams.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> have a question for the Strider family or their friends? leave a message at striderjams.tumblr.com!


End file.
